


Timeless (For Now)

by TheTartWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Agender John, Asexual Sherlock, Gen, John is not human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: Sherlock is amused, Mycroft is suspicious, and John is Timeless.





	

**Author's Note:**

> John is still a soldier, just of a different race. They will tend to rely on the morality of their contractor, simply because I wanted the chance to write John at Sherlock's moral level. The Timeless are known among high-level government, but it's not civilian knowledge.

They stand still on the street-corner, watching streetlights flash by in a haze of filmy glows. How funny it is, them being so calm and quiet as they wait. Their thoughts are anything but.  

It is many, many years when time finally slows down for them and their clothing settles into something they guess is time-appropriate. They step into the street immediately, feeling an itch in the sole of their shoes. It abates somewhat as they cross the pavement, cars flashing around them and just barely missing. They don’t adjust their step at all; if the cars were going to hit, they would. At the moment they're called by a contract, a mortal crying out. 

They don’t pause in the doorway of the flat; demons don’t pause for such things, nor do angels. No great battle or deed faltered due to locked doors or wary landladies. They continue on, braving the elderly woman's babble and panicked phone call. Their eyes are blank to the outside, they know this. Nothing matters until the contract is consummated and cast. Until then, they are empty of purpose besides reaching their contractor.  

They enter the upper living space with their eyes catching through walls and the traces of humanity on a human, standing in the middle of the room with his hands outstretched. Another sits in a wing-back chair, eyes slightly mocking, umbrella in a clenched fist. That one might not be able to tell exactly what was happening, but they could obviously tell the given energy was being received by  _something_.  

They step through the paneling of the doorway and circle the contractor. The one with the umbrella stiffens at the sight of them, but they say nothing, kneeling before the contractor with a sigh, aching joints and itching appendages settling before their impending mission.  

The contractor freezes, eyes widening at the sight of them, before their head cocks. Shaggy black hair ringlets in front of his eyes like a curtain. "Mycroft, you shouldn’t have."  

The other shakes their head, still silent. The contractor frowns, unimpressed. "Well?" He demands, toeing them in the side. The umbrella-ed one squeaks a little, but they pay no mind. "Who are you? What am I to call you?" 

"You may call me whatever you like, Contractor." They reply, sinking easily into the bend of their knees.  _This one will be powerful enough to sustain me,_ they think into their inhales and expel  _if they fail, it will not be because of me._  

"John, then," says the contractor. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Stand up." 

They stand, joints creaking with the return to flesh from statuesque formation. Sherlock tsks sullenly, inspecting them from all angles, before asking, "what sort are you, then? There are no visible markings, your clothes are as nondescript as they get, and you barely speak."  

"You summoned a warrior, Sherlock Holmes," they say, voice cracking and head tilting. They're confused; did their contractor not summon them for a purpose?  

Their contractor's mouth tilts a little quizzically. "Do you identify as male or female? Your speech pattern is erratic."  

"Those are not who I am," they admit, not really seeing how this matters. "Do you propose a contract?" 

"What if I said no?" Sherlock asks, eyes glinting. The other jumps to their feet, outrage on their face.  

"Sherlock! You have summoned them, you will agree to a contract!" They fume, though their tone is carefully bland. 

"I would wait for my next contractor in peace, Sherlock Holmes," they say quietly, ignoring the angry one. They don’t get summoned by angry ones for a reason. 

"Then yes, I propose a contract," Sherlock Holmes beams, pupils alarmingly expanded, and collapses onto a  _chaise longue_ just in time for a horrible pounding of feet up the stairs to occur. They have not moved from their position in the circle, standing quietly, but at a nod from Sherlock Holmes they kneel again, skin and features flashing over a flat, fleshy skull. They invent themselves from images in Sherlock Holmes's mind, since theirs is the only one that matters, and by the time the humans on the stairs have reached the top, they are kneeling as a stout blond human with blue eyes and a cardigan. At their knees is a gun, metallic skin flashing in the lights scattered about the room. They don’t raise their eyes for the other humans; their eyes belong only to Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions?  
> I know it's kind of confusing due to all the gender-neutral pronouns but that's how John perceives the world. They don't immediately jump to a gender based on clothing or haircut or voice, they'll wait until the subject identifies themselves before labeling someone, simply because I wanted to show that having watched the past go by, they have become pretty much accepting of people's differences, even if they don't share those differences themself.  
> Please ask any questions!


End file.
